How to explain synchronicity?

[ParadoxZone]

Thanks, Dana and Santeri. Yes, my teachers were, how can I say, different to yours, Santeri.

Amazing what happens when you are the screen. Quite literally, I mean. Just two examples of countless ones.

The guy, at work. Something had happened the day before, on a sort of away day, that I thought he found weird. (It was very weird.) I went to his office, as I was wont to do, said "Hi, how are you?" Very kind, unthreatening, friendly. Next thing, he was on his feet, jabbing his finger at me, roaring "How dare you come into my office, point your finger at me and shout at me?" (The quotation marks here are valid, wouldn't use them otherwise.) I simply pointed out that I hadn't raised my voice and left, as his face turned deeper red. Weeks later, I heard that the official story was that I went to his office, shouted abuse, cursed him to high heaven and left.

Another time in the secure wing of the private (but not for profit, eh) hospital, against my will, because seemingly I was "an immediate danger" to myself, but definitely not to others. (Narrator: he was less of a danger to himself then than at any time in his life up to that point.) The teenage girl, who I'd spoken to briefly previously, wanted to talk, and, seemingly, only to me. So we stood there, face to face. I knew enough to say or do very little. So she talked, and then all of a sudden ..... "I was abused", and it was a whole body statement, eyes popping and then narrowing with a whole lot of other stuff going on. It felt, to me, like a huuuge breakthrough, her telling me who it was (a neighbour, good friend of the family, when he came round etc). All I asked was if she was going to tell anyone else. She told me she couldn't tell her mother ... because, reasons. All I said was "hmm". This part is clichéd but next thing that happened was the young female nurse came across, grabbed her by the shoulder, talked about medication time and, not so gently, led her away. Three days later, mother and extended family arrived to take her home, as she "wasn't doing well in hospital". I don't know if she ever told anyone, I don't know how thick her mother's defences were, what else was going on with her family that needed protecting. A year later, I saw that beautiful soul again, same hospital, me in a different energetic state (still running loads of energy, but not doing well, an actual danger to myself, but with the freedom of the City, not even my own City at that). There she was, playing on Facebook, about 50 lbs heavier. She didn't seem to recognise me, so I pretended not to recognise her. The only thing I concluded (knowing which of the "white coats" she had to deal with) was which antipsychotic meds they had her on. It was one of two, and my money would have been on olanzapine.

So Santeri, yes facing fears, in general, is the best general advice. It's just that there's a time and a place for such advice. Being in a forest in Finland, with supportive people, seems to be a great situation for that advice. Other contexts, not so much.

Some day I'll tell you about actually being the music, without knowing the first thing about music. I have a piece in mind and I'll share it. But I have only this phone, a new android, a new brand (to me), and we haven't figured each other out yet. (Hey Mr. Peterson, let's talk about trait openness now.)

[SanteriSatama]

So Santeri, yes facing fears, in general, is the best general advice. It's just that there's a time and a place for such advice. Being in a forest in Finland, with supportive people, seems to be a great situation for that advice. Other contexts, not so much.

Some day I'll tell you about actually being the music, without knowing the first thing about music. I have a piece in mind and I'll share it. But I have only this phone, a new android, a new brand (to me), and we haven't figured each other out yet. (Hey Mr. Peterson, let's talk about trait openness now.)

Where's your location? We've had great healers and teachers visiting from Turtle Island/Americas, connecting with the ecovillage scene. It's a good day here, first rain in many weeks.

Ability to listen intently is a great talent and gift, thank you for yours. I take a little pride that I was once - when I was still of FB - able take the onslaught from a Borderline pattern without losing my grounding to the normal and healthy fight-or-flee reaction. Wonders of writing-reading in social media, I doubt I could have done that on hitting and spitting distance.

To my understanding the borderline pattern is a deep trust issue. The social and systemic scale of trust issues is beyond huge. What do you do when the first "IRL" example of trust in speaking truth that comes to mind is based on threat of horrible violence? How do you take in this kind of systemic knowledge?

[ParadoxZone]

Wonderful, Santeri, thank you for your listening/seeing skills.

I am in Ireland, in the "far south" as one weatherman recently put it. I had a wonderful healer once, an American/Irish healer named Catherine. But what chance, amidst all the rest of the carry-on? She is/was a humanistic and integrative counsellor. Counselling psychologist, on her business card. Now doing movement therapy too, last time I looked. First (?) time I laid eyes on her, there was instant recognition. Never told anyone that, before now. And there was a smirk from her.

I had done an experiential (introduction) course in humanistic and integrative counselling myself, lasting seven months, over about eleven weekends, one of which was residential in an old, creepy monastery, with many crucifixes. They say that's what triggered the craziness (not the crucifixes), but of course it wasn't. The intention then was to be in a position to give back. That happened too, though not in any way that I would or could have anticipated. It happened in many, subtle, invisible acts of kindness ways. Those heart swelling ways. Many mind blowings during that course, and after. I take a little pride that I paid for it myself, knowing that I could easily have arranged for (then) work to pay at least half. It was for me, not them, after all.

The weather here has cooled down from last week, which is a blessed relief, to me. Ireland was officially tropical, according to those who decide those things. Now some flooding.

Work, relationships, all gone now. Some original family still call, every few months, depending on whose turn it is. Haven't had a face to face conversation with a human being, other than an essential worker, since February 2020. But the previous conversation was about six months previously. Covid has been of use for some (me included). My app won't "ping", my understanding is that I have to be within two metres of another person/phone for fifteen minutes. No chance.

Yes, the borderline patterning. Yes, very early in development. Yes to the absence of trust in, well, anyone. And the absence of friends, or rather the inability to keep friends. Not to be in any particular group, yet attached to many. A scholar among rakes and a rake among scholars. New rule - regardless of skin tone, race, ethnicity, religion, there will be othering. Not so new, though. Taleb got that right, in his "exposition" of various religious sects, and their origins. That it was written in response to more Sam Harris nonsense, well, all the better.

Some more meaningful coincidence (ha). Last week , I commented on the guardian website. An article on loneliness. I haven't commented on anything in ages. A few paragraphs only, but the whole point of commenting was the last paragraph. It went something like - belonging, being seen/heard, identity etc, are these really separate things? I wanted to say patterning, but thought it might be too much.

Of course they're not separate things. It was (puffs cheeks) chosen as a guardian pick, which led to some interesting replies, off topic, yet from some, clearly, very lonely people. Luckily, comments closed quickly, so I didn't need to feel responsible for too much. Many upticks, so there's that.

Ground, what a great word you've chosen. Standing your ground is ok, but having a ground is better, essential. I get a little frustrated reading on here sometimes. The latest controversy, the Rovelli one. Smart guy thinks what now? Of course there's a ground. But I don't have the words, or the math, to explain. Or to describe the ground, at least in a way that folk here would find in way satisfying. (Or that I might find satisfying, were I to read it later.) Go Bernardo, slay that notion too.

Must go now, a morsel of food and then some sleep. I don't know when you'll see this, I'm on probation here, for at least one excellent reason. I will respond, not react, to any further posting.

[AshvinP]

Yet, on the same train Journey, you pick up that national newspaper (the three days ago edition, which someone just left there) the one you make a point of not reading, being the paper of record (and clarifications). And you read that very funny column by that guy. That guy, being the very reason you used to buy that other national Sunday newspaper, because that's where the column appeared then. Any you reflect on that other weird experience you had, the last time you travelled for work. Two weeks before, overnighting in that same City, going to the bar, sipping beer and water. Mostly water. And being approached by two young women, who worked for that Sunday newspaper, one being the editor of the arts magazine, the other being .. well, maybe even more consequential synchronicity there, but let's not get too distracted. And artsy lady just shouts and points saying "it's him, that's our guy". So you have a lovely conversation with artsy lady, discussing that guy, and what a pity he left the Sunday paper for the paper of record. And she tells you that they'd have him back.

Hey PZ,

Nice to have you here! This experience sounds very interesting, but maybe bc it's early in the morning, I am not exactly following... who are you in relation to that "guy"? Also I think we are all curious about the "even more consequential synchronicity"... don't leave us hanging

[SanteriSatama]

Ah, Ireland! When I was a young man, my second Interrail trip was to Ireland, a pilgrimage to Guinness factory, music pubs and most importantly Joyce's tower. It was pouring rain that day, and I ended up in a road work tent with a toothless old guy, sharing a bottle of Bushmills. I couldn't understand half of what he said, but it was nice there and he gave me the little little harp thingie.

My trust has been building on Self and Cosmos, this inter-relation. The infinite complexity in-between, well, that's a complex story, but generally, paying attention to the positive tends to pay back.
Maybe something better will emerge from this social exclusion chrysalis, which is loosening the ties of the old frame and conditioning. An introvert like me does not easily feel lonely when alone... dunno about the extroverts, the busybody do-gooders and control maniacs whom introverts have been trying to escape to the edges of world, to the worst of weathers... and honestly, they can have also their positive sides, all the practical care and what not.

But yeah, even we feel the need of belonging to a community, on some level, and preferably as sane and healthy community that can be and leave us be free.

A very Irish meaning of Ground comes from this poem:



Not a very firm ground to stand tall, but while sinking deeper, remembering the meaning of being... and digging, sinking deep enough, maybe the passage to the Ocean opens. Maybe the passage goes through the pressure of the dark deep, where deep sea creatures become self-illuminating stars.

Darkness feels, and even if there's no light around, the bog can teach to find our way with our bare feeling feet.

[Soul_of_Shu]

Ah, Ireland! When I was a young man, my second Interrail trip was to Ireland, a pilgrimage to Guinness factory, music pubs and most importantly Joyce's tower. It was pouring rain that day, and I ended up in a road work tent with a toothless old guy, sharing a bottle of Bushmills. I couldn't understand half of what he said, but it was nice there and he gave me the little little harp thingie.

Even with some so-called 'black Irish' roots, and of the same linguistic family, I still need to turn on the subtitles for some of that Gaeilge-steeped dialect and lexicon, never mind the Joycesque morphological quirkiness.

[SanteriSatama]

Even with some so-called 'black Irish' roots, and of the same linguistic family, I still need to turn on the subtitles for some of that Gaeilge-steeped dialect and lexicon, never mind the Joycesque morphological quirkiness.

Ah, the Joyosesque dialect of Irish-Elkish, a linguistic I-Sol-Ate of the First-Age Irish-Elvish, can indeed be difficult to master without subtitillating for those not born in the village of Entwaifu.

[Marco Masi]

If all existence is an indivisible whole, an all-pervading oneness then we can not be separate. Our separation is a superficial appearance of the mind. Our actions and thoughts have repercussions on that indivisible whole.

[ParadoxZone]

Hi again Santeri, Hi Ashvin.

Santeri :

Nice poem, nice music. Thanks. Yes, the Guinness factory. I worked around the corner, literally, for four years, as a Civil Engineer, Jan 1984-Jan 1988, with the local authority. Actually built some stuff, using existing people and resources, which even then was a no-no. All still standing. I drove by the Martello tower so many times, without knowing its significance to so many. I never felt the need to visit the factory, until a tourist needed someone to accompany her. It was true then, it was true twenty years later and might still be true today, that the Guinness tasted better the closer to the factory. Even too far down James' street seemed to make a difference. It was then, and for many years later, my drink of choice. But when the energy became very high, yet even, I found it hard to look at a pint. I experimented a little, looking for a bite. The greasy feel of the mouth needed that. And so I landed on Corona, of all things.

So you got a harpie thing? Cool, did you feel Irish for a bit? Must be nice. I'm Irish, going back generations on both sides, as far as we can tell. But somebody burned the records, so my brother and cousins could only get so far on my Dad's side. And on Mum's side, a dead end, although there was much talk of a farm in North Cork, lost during the famine times. And talk of my grandad, a mechanic, dead decades before I was born, bringing home a blood-stained handkerchief from Michael Collins' car, lost of course. If I had figured out how to share by now, I'd share Sinead O Connor's version of "The foggy dew".

And the nice lady, star of "Derry Girls" (great show, as long as you have enough of the backstory), being interviewed, waxing lyrical about the importance of knowing your ancestry, because otherwise "who are you?" she almost roars. I don't know, kind lady, but if you think you do, even with all your records, you really are putting a lot of trust in the "who begat who" narrative. And I don't know who burned all the records, maybe it was my lot, maybe yours. And in Ireland, up to very, very recently, and possibly now, that begetting narrative was pretty untrustworthy.

So, that artsy crew, the look at how cultural we are crew, they'll be the death of some of us. So your seeking out the cultural pubs was my "avoid like the plague" experience. Until, of all places, Helsinki, in 1995, for work, of course. An IT conference that I didn't want to go to, but was coerced into, to keep an eye on our own IT people. This time I was a Government statistician, with responsibility for "Labour Market". Ugh, even the name gives me shivers. But then, in Helsinki, there seemed to be nowhere else to go. Even the Finnish band was indistinguishable from The Dubliners, to my ear. And the nice lady, when I turned from the bar, who I hadn't noticed before, whose first words
to me were "I am very shy, would you like to sleep with with me?" Culture shock (and no, I didn't). And the cruise, to St. Petersburg, well that was eye-opening, to an innocent Irish lad. And on the same trip, going to the Hague, for a seminar on Labour Accounts, because Ireland should, of course, be represented. The Dutch guys wanted to black-box everything and not even show workings, because of course they did. And they accused me of employing an Irish, artistic approach. Me, of all people. That battle was won, the war lost. It's all black-box now and the workings are so obscure, that I can't follow them. I think that's deliberate, it's the era of the data scientists.

So I'll never be Irish enough for some. What with the new Irish, and their wonderful, refreshing ways and all the recent discussions of what it means to be Irish. Best not to even try, with the brown eyes. That could have been the Spanish, it could have been the Jews fleeing Portugal, it could have been so many peoples, at so many different times. It really doesn't matter at all. So I'll settle for another nice lady and her wonderful poem. "You don't get to be racist AND Irish". Cool, let's define it that way. Works for me.

My interrailing was done on a bus, between Sydney and Cape Tribulation, in 1988. Fabulous, taking in the World Expo in Brisbane and lots of other stuff.

Ashvin :

Yes, even as I wrote it, I thought it had the potential to confuse. The jargon is as follows :

The paper of record = The Irish Times.

The Sunday paper = The Sunday Tribune (no longer in existence)

My home City : Cork

That Guy = Paul Howard, who writes a weekly piece in the Irish Times, but it started in the Tribune. Very good, very funny though I don't get to read it anymore, with the pay-wall.

The time : March-April, 2008

My role at the time: Senior Statistician, inter alia, bringing a new concept to Ireland, that of regular, understandable Crime Statistics. Up to 2006, crime statistics meant whatever the head of the police, or the minister, or both, deemed appropriate, whenever suited, mainly at a dinner. Usually such bs as "overall crime is down by x%". The dance is still going on, now they have a Police Inspectorate with teeth to help out. I'm not sure there's any heart in it, though.

Greatest hits in the role : Actually doing the above. Getting micro-data, regularly from the police. With names, of perps and victims. Making it all legal, as in actual legislation, which wasn't strictly necessary, but people needed cover. Helping them to figure out what data they had, dealing with their consultants (Accenture), putting manners on those consultants/leeches. Dealing with all sent to bat against the very notion. Including the then Data Protection Commissioner, sent to bat by the police IT people, to argue more bs. That only took a couple of months, with legal letters, and didn't delay much, if at all. Watching the attitude of the two police reps, sent to deal with me (a Chief Super and an Inspector, the latter being the guy who knew stuff and did all the work) change from it'll never happen, to this might happen, to why hasn't all this happened ages ago. Wonderful guys, both. Egging me on and helping they were, with all the doubts.

Having the same meetings, over and over, having the patience to give it time and space. And then, seeing it all happen so quickly.

Introducing a Crime Classification system that made sense. Promoting "death due to dangerous driving" to homicide, rather than miscellaneous traffic offences, or some such thing. Relegating "illegal abortion" to miscellaneous offences, for good, publicly stated reasons. Getting prostitution out of sexual offences, to a social code violation, something like that.

Making a public point of not adding up "all the crimes". (I'm not sure if anyone dared, since.) Spending time on the phone with the journos who were making an effort to understand.

Ask me tomorrow, and I might give a different list.
And of course, I didn't do this alone. Very powerful people wanted, on paper at least, it all to happen. But they wouldn't have been bothered about the who, what, wheres of it all.

Most enraging moment : Meeting the Probation people, at their dingy offices, in Dublin with clients passing through the office. The same day, in another role, in another plusher part of town, meeting the industrial development honchos, the Science Foundation people, the great and the good, in their plush building, plush offices, and not-so-cute mannerisms. The people that tried to take me out, publicly and brutally, later, for a mixture of Corporate and selfish reasons, for my role in another project.

Most heartening and rewarding moment : Getting a tentative call from the rape crisis people, in Galway, the day after the first press conference (on that topic). Someone "official" had said, out loud, the bleeding obvious. That recorded statistics concerning sexual offences shouldn't be relied on. Duh! But it meant so much to them. And to me. Of course, they were later shafted by the system. Or by specific people in the system. They, the ones collecting real data, with real context. Shafted by the new sheriff in town, in our office, who had his orders, or suggestions, from the money men. Career advancement was important to him. How he dismissed them, without even a glance at their website. I tried to help, even from hospital, but my influence was gone. But they're still plugging away, some of them at least. I had a peep a few weeks ago.

Funniest moment : In the Home Office, in London. My division had grown to three people, including me. Two fabulous young ladies. Old British guy : Your assistants. Me : My colleagues. That battle was waged in Luxembourg too.

So the other consequential synchronicity lady in the bar that night, Ashvin. Your actual question :

She was then a/the Crime Correspondent with the Sunday Tribune, later with the Daily Mail (in the UK, I believe, not the Irish edition). Back home now, with another paper (ugh) as far as I can tell. But also related, I believe, to a (then) psychiatrist in Bantry, in West Cork. One of the more progressive ones, who I couldn't see because of geography. We corresponded later and she was very nice and tactful. So that's where that whole synchronicity/crime/psychiatry things get jumbled up. And on it went.

[SanteriSatama]

ParadoxZone,

Nice to hear your stories. I think it's easier, much more pragmatic, when the women make the initiative, and make it clear, as reading the "signs" is often way too hard for stupid males. You made me wonder, why did you turn down request by the Helsinki girl?

As it happens, my father's last paying job was in Center of Statistics, until he got on sick leave and then on medical pension with white coat diagnosis "schitzophrenia". In reality, he suffered from a bad case of moral conscience and deep sense of social justice, and the episodes came from trying adjust into something his conscience could not accept. I was living with my father during the episode that ended his career as Statistician, and the main symptom was refusal to use Latin alphabet, because he considered it colonialistic/imperialistic. In retrospect, that doesn't sound so crazy... and I never called him crazy.

My first big way troublesome episode was some time after my dad was giving my family a ride to a friends place, and the car slipped and rolled, jumped etc. acrobatics. Nobody else died or got badly injured, but after the accident I was very unsure whether I was dead or alive, and felt forced to make a trip (white coat diagnosis: psychosis) back to the accident place, where I vomited back the spirit that had carried me until then. This story is sparse on all the other details, which as usual, are too many to tell. To wrap up, on the journey there I stopped by my fathers place, who on his turn presented a calm and balanced case for keeping electricity and alphabetic writing on the Internets, and after I had laid down to die, my love for my family pulled me back for return trip, and the first car stopped to give a ride.

These things are hard on the family, and ultimately it lead to divorce after 20 years of marriage, as her trust was broken and in the gardening school I didn't say no to a fellow student, who was on mission to save her own long term relationship and self-esteem by charming another guy. It wasn't fake from her part. My heart broke completely, in way which felt very physical. I drifted very numb in the fog, a sad wry smile on my face, letting sorrow teach me music, certain I could never fall in love again.

I fell in love again in the summer when I was invited to move to an ecovillage. That fall included also the second episode, which I decided to go through without white coats and did so. A new heart grew, much stronger.